


Fluff

by Su_Whisterfield



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Dawn of X, Domestic Fluff, Grooming, Krakoa, M/M, Showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:14:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24179527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Su_Whisterfield/pseuds/Su_Whisterfield
Summary: Logan’s been neglecting his Elf and is under strict instructions from Jean and Ororo to go make nice.Set after Hellions issue 1, where Kurt has a close encounter with a rocket launcher and gets a bit blown up.
Relationships: Logan/Kurt Wagner
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	Fluff

He comes out of The Council meeting with Jeannie an’ ‘Ro.  
The dressing on his head is ridiculous, he looks like a four year old whose mom has kissed his boo-boo and put a bandage on it.

Scotty stormed out about half an hour ago. He an’ Gorgon already bawled me out for allowing a Council member to get injured off Island, an’ now, after their decision on Alex, he’s gonna be in a foul mood for days.  
I’m definitely mellowing in my old age, time was I’d‘ve decked ‘em, both of ‘em, like it was my fault the bastards had rocket launchers? Besides, Elf, everyone knows it takes a whole squad of security to keep him out of trouble.  
An’ he’s okay, mostly. Only got blown up a bit.  
Alex? He was out of control, dangerously so, even by my standards. He needs stortin’ out, for everyone’s safety and we, Kurt an’ me, had a duty to report that to the Council and the Captains.

Still, best way to avoid punching Summers’ lights out is to avoid him for a day or two.

I step forward to meet our Summer Council.

***

“Tired. Head hurts.” He leans back on the sofa, closes his eyes. See, he shouldn’t have gone to the Council meeting at all, he should have come straight home after they released him from The Healing Gardens.  
But no, that stupid sense of duty. I scowl and cross my arms.  
“They gave you some more painkillers?”  
“ _Ja._ Said I’d know when I’d need them.”  
“Hungry?”  
“Tired,” he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m just going to bed.”  
I give him a hand up, never like to see him hurt, guy never complains, never kicks up a fuss, yeah, maybe I do feel a bit guilty. So sue me.

I go raid his beer stash while he sleeps.  
He’s my best friend. Possibly best friend I ever had. Puts up with my crap better than most, anyway.  
An’ he shouldn’t be alone with a head injury.

I finish my brew lookin’ out over the island and put the bottle in the kitchen, in the recycling, the habitat is stupid tidy, everything has A Place an’ he’s like an old woman over keeping it neat.

I could sleep on the couch. But I don’t have to.

“Mm?”  
“Shh, back to sleep.”  
“Mm. Ow.”  
“You okay?”  
“ _Ja_ , just a bit sore.”

I don’t sleep deep at the best of times, but I drop off right away. Must’ve been the beer.  
Only stir once, find I’ve got him snuggled up against me. I rest my hand at the back of his neck, stroke my thumb through the soft short hair. He sighs, but doesn’t wake. Up close you can see the other cuts and grazes, where they’ve clipped the fur away to dress them. Bit of a close call, that was.  
I drift off again. Safe now.

***

“Ow. Ow. Fuck. Ow.”  
Painkillers have worn off, eh? I hand him two pills and a glass of water.  
While he’s taking ‘em, I go on a hunt for coffee.  
One advantage of being on The Council, he’s got real coffee. It smells sinfully, mouthwateringly... oh, yeah, that’s the good stuff. Wonder where he’s getting it from?

I go back into the bedroom to see if he wants a cup too.  
And there’s no Elf.  
Fuck, where the hell’s he got to?

There’s slightly off key singing coming from the bathroom.

He’s standing on one leg and fighting with getting the other leg out of his sweatpants. He’s swaying like he’s in a force ten gale and appears to be drunk as a skunk. What the..?

Oh yeah, the painkillers, he didn’t have dinner last night, or breakfast this morning. They hit fast on an empty stomach. The packet of pills is back in the bedroom, but bet ya’ a dollar it says ‘To be taken with food’ on the label.

Oops. I have one stoned Elf on my hands.  
“Need a hand, Pavarotti?”  
He squints at me. Giggles. Starts to topple.  
I reach out and grab him. So not taking him back to the Healing Gardens with a cracked head. Cecelia would have my hide, not to mention what ‘Ro an’ Jeannie would do, I like my crown jewels where they are, thank you.  
I stand him upright and bend down to untangle the pants from his tail and leg. He’s still giggling, not feeling any pain, are you lad? He leans against me.  
“Whatcha tryin’ ta do, Elf?”  
“I’m going to have a shower!” he declares, happily. “I smell awful.” He nods and sniffs his own arm.  
He does still have the slight fragrance of burning vehicle.  
“Okay.” I guide him onto the toilet seat, have to move a sink plunger first, what’s that doing out in Mr Neat’s bathroom? Surely it has A Place, not just dumped anywhere? “Sit.” I start to undress myself, a shower seems reasonable, but he’s barely able to sit upright, let alone stand, it’s gonna be a sharing experience. He’s leering at me, yeah, good luck with that, kid, you’re in no fit state at the moment.  
“Mm, handsome.”  
“Thank you. Now lets get you up.”  
“ _Ja_ , up!” He makes an enthusiastic grab for my junk, oh joy, horny and stoned. I can see no way this will end well.  
“Ah, ah.” I bat his groping hand away. “Shower, lets not get distracted.”  
“I like the distraction.” He pouts, bats his eyelashes, yeah, yeah, very cute. He’s also very fast, even doped up, his arms are round my neck and his warm, sweet mouth captures my lips.  
I sigh and return the kiss, run my hands gently down his long, lean back. He leans into me, moulding that strong, muscular body against me. I guide him into the warm cascade of the waterfall which Krakoa has grown for him.

***

Elf never asks for much, we go for a beer, relax after work, sometimes find other ways to relax, if ya get my drift. But we’re solid, it’s good, he’s good for me, for my head. It’s nothin’ complicated or dramatic or hard work, it’s possibly the easiest friendship I’ve ever had. At least from my side. As I said, he puts up with a lot of shit from me.  
So he deserves a bit of attention now and then. Someone to be there after a shit day. Someone to keep an eye on him after a close call with a rocket launcher.  
He won’t ask. He won’t say the words. I don’t think he can.  
It was easier at the Westchester place, where we were all under one roof, I kinda knew, knew when he needed me. Now I live a quarter of a million miles away an’ I don’t see him every day.

I got a talkin’ to, from Jeannie and ‘Ro about it. Him.  
Seems I’m neglecting him a bit lately.  
Yeah, I’m an idiot, it’s not like keepin’ him happy is a tough gig.  
I just got a bit caught up, what with Jeannie, an’ Slim.  
Still, I’m here now.

***

I wash the smell of gas and burnt rubber from his hair. He relaxes and enjoys the warm water, odd tufts of singed fur and bits of crap go slowly down the drain. The shower gel stuff is vivid green and, knowing him, probably stupid expensive. It smells a bit familiar, but I can’t place it, an’ it doesn’t lather up worth a damn so I have to use a ton of it. I wash his hair, work the stuff down him, into his fur.  
He’s humming with pleasure, but he’s also drooping after a few minutes, he’s forgotten he was horny, the drugs’ll do that.  
I wrap him in a towel and sit him on the toilet again while I pat him dry, gentle like, he’s still got those little cuts and burns peppering his torso and right arm. He does smell better now though.

“You okay?” I put my hand under his chin, look into his face.  
“ _Ja_ ,” he cracks a yawn. “Tired. But I just woke up.”  
I don’t feel like confessing about the painkillers right now. I ruffle his damp hair.  
“C’mon, lets get you summat to eat.”  
He manages half a bowl of cereal but that’s all, I post him back into his bed and he’s out like a light.

Then I’ve got the day off and his posh pad to myself. I make myself a whole jug of that nice coffee.  
Cool.  
I don’t get much downtime.  
He’s got a huge TV, Trinary set it up for him, see, he’s important now, Council member, whatever he wants he gets. He’s not interested in much current TV, but it’s also linked into the Krakoan computer network, and if he can’t get to watch his stupid old films, we’d never hear the end of it, trust me.  
I scroll through channels looking for sports. Find an Aussie one showing soccer, that’ll do. Is it too early for a beer? Nah. It’s Aussie Rules, it’s practically compulsory.

I also spend a good couple of hours in his new gym, he had to get Krakoa to grow it for him, he’s just too noticeable, he couldn’t get any privacy at the public gyms. And he has to keep in practice, to do what he does, very little of what makes him good in a fight is down to his mutant ability to ‘port, most of it is just damn hard work and skills honed until they’re second nature.  
There’s a fancy rope rig high up too, proper pro circus kit.  
He’s got top of the range weights too.  
It’s only when I’m showering off afterwards that I realise that some of the weights are way heavier than the ones he usually works out with; I’ve spotted for him enough to know.  
And there’s a robe in the bathroom, it’s twice his size. But short. It’s for me.  
Bet there’s a change of clothes for me too. Yeah, in one of the bedroom drawers.

He was expecting this.  
Expecting me here.  
He knows me so well.

He knew I’d fuck up.  
Knew I’d need a bolt hole.

But he won’t make a fuss, won’t make an issue out of it.  
He’ll just be there for me.  
I go towel my hair dry looking down at him, fast asleep, my friend. My best friend. 

***

He wakes up mid-afternoon, clearly feeling much better. Eats his way through the contents of his ‘fridge, I swear he’s still got the metabolism of a teenager. He’s not taken any harm from this mornings accidental overdose, he’s slept off any hangover and he seems over the aches and pains too. I can tell he feelin’ better; he back to bein’ graceful again.

He joins me on the sofa.  
“It didn’t take you long to work out the television.”  
“Been lookin’ for the porn channel, yer service is sadly lackin’.”  
“Is it now?” His tail coils up my bare leg. Oh yeah, feelin’ _much_ better. He bends in and our mouths meet.  
Then he stops, pulls back, we’re both only wearing bathrobes, so what if it’s the middle of the afternoon? My cock is having it’s usual reaction to that warm, sweet mouth. He looks at me, suddenly serious.  
“Is this okay?”  
“Huh?”  
He purses his lips, he knows I’m not good at words but he doesn’t let me pull the dumb act.  
“This. Us.”  
I reach out and stroke his hair out of his eyes.  
“It’s okay. They know about you. Us. Some things aren’t negotiable, Elf. You’re one of them.”  
He relaxes, smiles, that gentle, kind smile. “Good.”

I lie back on the sofa, he’s on top of me, the familiar weight of him always feels right. I stoke my hand down his back, under the indigo silk of his robe, he shivers and his body starts to react, my own cock is gettin’ hard, the sensation of his fur against it, familiar, arousing.  
“Ow!” There’s a crack so loud, we both jump and a blue spark jumps from my fingers to his shoulder.  
“Wow, look at that.” I run my hand down his back again and the fur moves with the static electricity.  
He cranes his neck to look. Scowls. His silk robe slithers off his shoulders with a crackle. He’s looking remarkably... fluffy?  
Still scowling, he tilts his head, stretches his arm out.  
Yeah, definitely fluffy.  
I snort back a laugh.  
He turns his head, slowly to look at me.  
“Why is my fur...”  
“Hey, I dunno. It’s your bathroom, your shower stuff.”  
“Shower stuff? I haven’t had a shower...”  
“Sure you did, we did, this morning...” I should know by now when to keep my big mouth shut.  
“I just woke up.” He looks out over the island through the huge picture window. The sun is dipping towards the other side of the bowl, it has a late afternoon feel to the light. “How long have I been asleep? Wait? We had a shower this morning? Why don’t I remember?” He sounds suddenly worried, his hand goes to his temple.  
“Yeah, well...” It’s safer to ‘fess up than have him fretting over nothin’. “I kinda gave ya them painkillers without summat to eat.” He’s scowling again.  
He’s very, well, German, about health and safety, very prone to reading the labels on things, things like painkillers. And then following the instructions.  
“And I had a shower?” He clearly doesn’t remember any of this. He sniffs his arm, the fur stirs. Fluffy, definitely fluffy. “In what?” Growing realisation dawns. He ‘ports and I’m left choking on a cloud of purple, sulphurous smoke.  
“Ah, fuck.” I fucking hate it when he pulls that goddamn stunt. I sit up, coughing the shit from my lungs.  
“This!” He’s over in the doorway, holding the green bottle of shower stuff. “You washed me in _this_?”  
“Sure. It was in the fuckin’ shower, what the hell did you think I’d use.”  
“Gah!” He flings his hands in the air in exasperation, his tail is thrashing like an angry cat. “It’s dishwashing liquid. The enzyme that Krakoa formulated for cleaning dishes.” Oh yeah, thought it smelt familiar, we use it at the Summers House.  
“So what was it doin’ in yer shower?” I yell back, I can still taste and smell the sulphur in the back of my throat, always puts me in a bad mood.  
He looks suddenly evasive.  
“That’s not the point. You washed _my fur_ in dishwashing liquid, no wonder it’s unhappy.” Still looking fluffy. I must not point this out. Must. Not.  
“Ah, don’t get yerself in a lather.” Then I have a sudden epiphany. “You were tryin’ to unblock the drain, weren’t you?”  
“Don’t change the subject.”  
“You’ve killed another plumbing system!”  
“Nonsense. Krakoa can cope with a bit of fur.”  
“Oh yeah?” I go over, glare up at him. Fluffy. Decidedly fluffy.  
“Gah!” More hand flinging, but I know I’m right. He’s got previous on blocking sinks, drains, overflows, just ask Chuck, ask any plumber in upstate New York. That’s what the sink plunger and digestive enzyme crap was for.  
Busted. He turns on his heel and stomps back into the bathroom. 

He’s heading for the shower again, the silk robe hits the deck with a soft, expensive, rustle. Even fluffy and furious, he’s got the most beautiful back. And a peach of an ass. He bends down and rummages in the basket beside the shower, pulls out shampoo and bottles and bottles and bottles of conditioner.  
Glares at me, over a fluffy blue shoulder.  
“Well? What are you waiting for?”  
“Huh?”  
“Get over here,” he orders, uncapping the first bottle and stepping under the warm waterfall. The fluff immediately flattens, outlining those magnificent muscles in indigo velvet. He holds out the bottle to me and I get with the program, there’s quite a lot of fur needing attention. We could be some time.

An’ it could have been worse, could have been bleach.  
Hm, best not to mention that.  
I step under the warm cascade and start showing him a bit of attention, as ordered.

Oh well, it’s a tough job, but someone has to do it.

**Author's Note:**

> This was _supposed_ to be angsty smut but, you know me, it turned into fluff.


End file.
